


takin' care of business

by inkk



Category: Metallica
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cross-Post, Interns & Internships, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, One Night Stands, Prompt Fill, Propositions, jason newsted is a brat: confirmed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: The memory comes roaring back in a single, painful flash that makes James' stomach plummet like a stone: black jeans crumpled up on the hardwood, condom wrapper on the bedside table, a pair of skinny legs wrapped around his hips, the sweet press of hot flesh as the kid alternated between gasping and moaning against his throat—Oh, Jesus Christ.He fucked an intern.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Jason Newsted
Comments: 41
Kudos: 57





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Written as a gift for mes0166, for Ficmas in July 2020!** ([x](https://www.rockfic.com/viewstory.php?title=takin%27%20care%20of%20business&storyid=34555&numchapters=1&category=Metallica&author=inkk&m=f))  
> The prompt was James Hetfield,Jason Newsted (Metallica): "First day at a new job and they realize that their boss is someone they’d hooked up with sometime prior, you pick who’s the boss and who’s the employee..."
> 
> i wrote this in about four hours flat, and clearly titled it while half-asleep lmao. please enjoy my unstoppable thirst for baby jason.

+

If there’s one thing that should be clarified, it’s that James is hungover.

Not the ‘throw on sunglasses and deal with it’ kind, and not the ‘drink some water and take an Aspirin’ kind; this particular hangover is a full-fledged, head-pounding, stomach-churning, good-day-destroying sonofabitch, and it wants James to suffer.

And today?

Well, today happens to be orientation day for the newest batch of interns.

As if Lars’ incessant cackling alone wasn't enough to make James regret showing up to the office this morning, he’s also supposed to give a quick speech to the new hires. Something about his duties as ‘the face of Hetfield Motors’, or whatever. Lars arranges for him to do it every time summer hiring season rolls around.

James usually doesn't mind — really, he doesn't — but on a day like today, with a hangover like this, the thought of mingling with thirty college hopefuls isn't exactly making him jump for joy.

“So you’ll give your little greeting at twelve, and then there’ll be some time to mingle and answer questions around two, and then from there on out, you’re officially absolved of all responsibility,” Lars finishes up, slapping a crisp stack of papers down on James’ desk. “And here’s the model Rob drew up for that part you were bitching about. Make sure you sign off on that and get it back to him by the end of the day, okay? James? Are you listening?”

James grunts, raising his head from his hands. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll take a look.”

Lars raises an eyebrow. “Big night?”

“You could say that.”

“Was she any good?”

“Fuck off.”

Lars rolls his eyes. “Fine, you big baby. I’ll send Kirk on a coffee run.” He turns on his heel to leave, then stops in the doorway. “Twelve sharp for the little speech, uh? I’ll kick your ass if you're late.”

James grumbles his assent. He watches the smart click-clack of Lars’ fashionable boots as he goes, stopping at Kirk’s desk to flirt on his way out. Twenty minutes later, Kirk quietly pokes his head in to pass James a steaming hot cup of black coffee. Like clockwork.

Life in the office suits James much more than he ever could have imagined as a rebellious eighteen-year old. It’s usually quiet, usually orderly, and usually satisfying. Not that running a successful company at age thirty-eight is easy work, but still; he’s proud of his product, he’s proud of his brand, and he’s proud to offer decent wages and comprehensive benefits to his employees. If that involves giving a few little motivational speeches here and there, so be it.

Thankfully, the worst of his hangover seems to abate by noon. James manages to review Rob’s work and make a few corrections, schedule a couple meetings, and then spend a few minutes mentally preparing himself for the cheesy greeting he’s about to deliver to a room full of twentysomethings.

Lars falls into step with him right as he’s making his way down the stairs towards the main lobby.

“Got your cue cards ready?” he jokes.

“Yeah, I thought I’d just recycle ‘em from last year,” James responds glibly. “How’s the crowd looking?”

Lars shrugs. “Pretty good group. Bunch of youngsters looking for work experience, but there are a few that show some promise, if you ask me. I think we’ll end up keeping a few on the payroll come fall.”

It’s exactly what James wants to hear. The two of them descend the last couple steps, and James turns his gaze towards the little group huddled in the middle of the atrium. Predictably, the summer hires are mostly male, mostly young, and mostly far too overdressed — poor suckers must have missed the memo to dress casual. Even James himself is in his customary uniform of jeans, dirty boots, and a Motörhead T-shirt.

“Hey, everyone,” Lars calls, clapping his hands together to draw their attention. “Good to see you all again, uh? How was the commute? Excited to get to work?”

James lifts a casual hand in greeting, but lets Lars take point on this one. He allows himself to fall back a little as the group is ushered over to conference room three.

Despite the remnants of a headache still thrumming behind James' eyes, Lars’ boundless enthusiasm is contagious as he launches himself into his usual spiel. Before James knows it, it’s his turn to speak; he trades places with Lars, offering a welcoming smile to the group gathered before him.

“Hey, guys. I’m James. I just wanted to come down and personally say how glad I am to have all of you here. Y’know, whether you’ll be working in design, or advertising, or our parts department…”

The words may be rehearsed, but they’re genuine nonetheless. Lars had shown him some of the résumés that came from this group, and James had been impressed, to say the least; he sees eagerness and ambition as he looks back at the small crowd, and he finds himself relaxing into his little speech. He rambles on a bit about hard work and dedication, making sure to throw in a few cheesy jokes that elicit awkward laughter.

As he nears the end of his greeting, the hangover feels like it has all but disappeared. He’s just about home free when a pile of long, curly auburn hair catches his eye.

There, on the far left. Wide, startled grey eyes staring back at him. Thin lips. Strong chin. Black Misfits t-shirt.

James falters, the words dying in his throat.

Misfits shirt.

Ratty black Misfits shirt, with a small hole near the right side of the collar.

The same ratty black Misfits shirt James remembers hitting his bedroom floor last night.

The memory comes roaring back in a single, painful flash that makes James' stomach plummet like a stone: black jeans crumpled up on the hardwood, condom wrapper on the bedside table, a pair of skinny legs wrapped around his hips, the sweet press of hot flesh as the kid alternated between gasping and moaning against his throat— 

Oh, Jesus Christ.

He fucked an intern.

James’ headache throbs sharply, and he clears his throat to stall for time. Dimly, he realizes that everyone, including Lars, is waiting for him to continue.

“Uh, well,” he coughs out. “We’re all family here, and I hope you’ll enjoy your time with us. Thank you all, and I’ll be seeing you around.”

There’s a faint smattering of applause as he steps aside to let Lars continue with the customary overview. He’s not looking at the kid. He’s not going to look at the kid. He's—

Shit. The kid is looking at him. James sucks in a breath and cuts his gaze back to Lars, shoving his hands in his pockets as he pretends to listen.

Shit. _Shit, shit, shit._

This could be bad. This could be really bad. This could be a hostile work environment issue waiting to happen. It could mean a complaint to HR, or fuck, maybe even some kind of lawsuit, or...

Secondary to his internal panic, Lars’ voice quickly fades into the background like white noise. James only tunes back in two minutes later, when he realizes that Lars is motioning to him.

“...I’m sure James has lots to get done today, so we’ll get going and let him get back to work. I’ll be leading the tour from here, and then we’ll meet up again later so you can grill him with all of your burning questions. Sound good? Alright.”

He motions to the door, and the group quickly begins filing back out, with James and Lars leading up the rear.

“The fuck was that about?” Lars mutters to James in an undertone, turning to lock the door behind them on their way out.

James shakes his head. “Later.”

He puts on a smile as he makes a beeline back to the main set of stairs, nodding to the group as they depart in the opposite direction. He swears he can feel the kid staring, like a laser boring into the side of his face.

It’s twelve-twenty now, which gives him around an hour and a half before he has to meet back up with the group to answer some of their questions.

Questions like _”What’s the best part about working here?”_

Questions like _”How are performance evaluations typically conducted?”_

Questions like _”Are you the guy who picked me up at a high-end club last night, took me back to your apartment, fucked my brains out twice, and then sent me home in a cab at four in the morning?”_

James can feel his molars starting to grind as he finally makes it back upstairs. He breezes past Kirk without a word, pushing his office door shut behind him, and then takes a seat behind his desk. For a moment, he just breathes.

Then, he lowers his forehead into one hand with a deep, tortured exhale. With the other, he reaches for the intercom.

“Hey, Kirk?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you find me a copy of our fraternization policy?”

A brief pause. “...Should I ask?”

“Please don't.”

“Okay. Gimme a minute, I’ll be right back.”

James takes the liberty of popping another Aspirin. Ten minutes later, there’s a timid knock at his door, and Kirk slips inside.

“Here you go,” he says, gently sliding the thin, freshly-printed packet onto James’ desk. It’s only three pages long, neatly stapled together. “And Rob called you back, by the way. He says he took a look at your revisions and made the requested changes.”

“Thanks.”

Kirk moves to withdraw from the room, then appears to hesitate for a moment, just standing there awkwardly.

James looks back up. “Yes?”

"That's not, uh.” Kirk motions to the papers. “It’s not about Lars, is it?”

James raises an eyebrow. “Should it be?”

“No. No, I was just… No. I’ll go.”

James waves a hand. “Relax. Your office romance is safe with me. This is about…” he shakes his head. “I made a stupid mistake. I just want to make sure I don't do anything to make it worse.”

Kirk's eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.”

“It’s probably nothing,” James sighs. He rubs at his forehead. “Just do me a favour and keep this between us, alright?”

“Of course. My lips are sealed.”

Kirk does a funny little salute and slips back out again, gently closing the door behind himself. James’ eyes fall to the packet of papers. With a great degree of resignation, he picks it up and begins to read.

+

Twenty minutes later, he’s able to summarize the following facts:

> 1\. The kid is of legal age. That goes without saying, of course, but it’s still a good start.
> 
> 2\. Everything James remembers about last night involved enthusiastic consent.
> 
> 3\. At the time, James was entirely unaware that the kid had been hired; they never even discussed work, so there should be no question of favouritism, pressure, or coercion of any sort.
> 
> 4\. The HR branch of Hetfield Motors doesn’t actually detail any strict rules against banging your coworkers; however, they do politely advise against it. (Noted.)
> 
> 5\. James can’t remember the kid’s name for the life of him. Was it Jacob? Jake? Josh? He’s pretty sure there was a ‘J’ in there somewhere.

Anyways.

All in all, James is certain that he hasn't actually done anything that could be construed as improper, illegal, or immoral. So unless the kid raises a complaint against him for some reason, he’s probably not going to be subjected to an internal investigation; no one will find out, they’ll never discuss it, and James will make a point to avoid seeing the kid around the building.

Unfortunately, this afternoon is still going to be unbearably awkward no matter what.

+

James makes it back downstairs to rejoin the group at 2:03. Apparently, a three minute delay is enough for Lars to give him the hairy eyeball for being late.

“Just go mingle, or whatever,” he says, steering James into the room. “Forty minutes, then you can go.”

They’ve provided coffee, tea, and store-bought cookies for the occasion, but before James can try to make a beeline for the coffee, he’s already been engulfed by a couple inquisitive interns. Lars gives him a friendly pat on the back and then promptly slips away.

James hates networking.

Just when he thinks he’s going to have enough of a break to grab a cookie, another sidles up. And another. And another. This goes on for twenty minutes, until finally—

_Goddammit._

It’s the kid, standing directly in front of him, with the audacity to look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed even though James knows for a _fact_ he must have woken up with a hangover to rival James’ own.

Fucking college kids.

James aims for a cordial smile, anyways. “Nice to meet you, Mr. —?”

“Newsted,” the kid supplies, offering a hand. “Jason Newsted. I believe we may have met before.”

Cocky fucker.

James ignores the renewed pang of his headache as he clasps their palms together. “Could be,” he says vaguely. “It’s good to see you in our program, Jason. What department are you working in this summer?”

“Design, sir. I’m really looking forward to it.”

The kid’s grip is nice and firm, lingering just a second longer than strictly required in an introductory handshake.

“Rob Trujillo is one of our best,” James confirms, “I’m sure he’ll be able to keep you busy.”

“I’m counting on it,” Jason smiles. “And if you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Hetfield… How hands-on are you with the interns here?”

James feels his eyebrows tick up. “Pardon?”

“I mean, should we expect to be seeing you around the building?” Jason clarifies.

“Well,” James clears his throat, “I’ll— yeah, I’ll be around. I like to keep in contact with all our departments.”

Jesus, is he _trying_ to give James a heart attack?

“I’m glad to hear that. I have a few more in-depth questions I’d like to ask you sometime, if your schedule would allow it. About the company, of course.”

James gives a stiff nod. “Happy to. Lars knows my schedule better than I do most days, so feel free to ask him when’s a good time.”

Jason’s smile grows. “Thanks a lot. I appreciate you taking the time, sir.”

“Just call me James, kid. We don't bother with too much formality around here.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Thankfully, another intern chooses that moment to materialize at his elbow, and Jason has no choice but to let him drift off to interact with the rest of the group. He doesn't make another attempt to speak to James, and when James is finally permitted to escape to get to a meeting, it’s with a breath of relief.

That wasn't so bad, he thinks to himself, taking the stairs two at a time. The kid hadn't seemed intimidated at all.

In fact, he had seemed...

No. James won't let himself think about that little twinkle in Jason’s eye.

If he was really smart, he'd hurry up and forget last night entirely.

+

The client meeting ends up dragging on until five-thirty. The whole thing is like pulling teeth — at the four-thirty mark, James discretely pops two more Aspirin, and at five o’clock, he feels himself beginning to daydream about getting home and taking the nap of a lifetime. It’s hard to even manage a smile as he shakes hands with the other attendees on their way out.

Predictably, the rest of the office has already shut down and cleared out for the day. Kirk's desk is freshly tidied and devoid of life except for his usual Frankenstein bobblehead toy, the windows logo bouncing amicably on the darkened screen of his computer as James passes by. He has no doubt that Lars has long since left for home, as well.

James exhales a sigh as he pushes his office door open. Then he looks up, and stops cold in his tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

Jason turns abruptly on his heel, dropping James’ name placard back on his desk with a little thump. His mouth drops open with a soft inhale. “Lars said I could find you here,” he says.

James just stares at him for a second. “It’s—” he starts, then cuts himself off with a curt exhale, rubbing his forehead. “It’s been a long day. What do you want?”

“To see you.”

Shit. The kid’s not gonna give him an easy way out, is he?

“Look, k— Jason,” James says, casting his gaze over to the windows as he chooses his words. Best to cut right to the chase and get this sorted out. “If this is about last night, then I’m… Believe me, I had no idea you'd be working here. If I had, I never would have… Y’know. Taken you home.”

Jason snorts. “You did a lot more than take me home,” he says. James’ head snaps up in alarm, only to see a small, contemplative smile playing at his lips. “I’m not mad, man. I had a great time.”

James frowns, uncomprehending, and waits for him to continue.

Jason leans his hips back against James’ desk and gives a shrug. “I don't know if you remember, but you gave me your number last night. I was planning on using it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jason says slowly. He looks down at his hands, then back up again. “I don't want to make your life harder, man. I’ll fuck off if you tell me to. But I mean...”

He hesitates, licking his lips, and raises one hand to scratch at the back of his neck. His face is beginning to flush in two pink spots high up on his cheeks. “Shit, man. That was the hottest fuck I’ve ever had. So I guess I figured I’d put the offer out there, if… If you ever wanted to go again sometime.”

James exhales a breath. “Fucking hell, kid.”

“I’m gone at the end of the summer anyways,” Jason continues, a defiant jut to his chin as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “I’m not fishing for a promotion here. And I report back to Rob anyways, so.”

James stares at him for another moment. “You've got balls, I’ll give you that,” he finally admits. “But it's… I mean, the whole thing is a bad idea, Jase. It would be wrong for me to,” he struggles for the words, “...take advantage.”

‘Jase’? Where on Earth did that nickname spring from?

To his surprise, Jason just rolls his eyes. “‘Take advantage’?” he laughs good-naturedly. “I’m not some jailbait virgin, James. And besides, you already pounded my ass _hard_ last night, so I think we’re both past that point.”

Oh, great. Hot, bratty, and with a dirty mouth.

James doesn't have a single good reply to that one. Thankfully, he doesn't have to; before he can fully process the words ‘pounded my ass hard’, Jason has snatched a pen from the mug on the corner of the desk, spun around, and bent over to scribble something down.

“I won't overstay my welcome,” he says, straightening up, “But my offer stands. I hope you'll consider it.”

He walks forward, getting close enough that James can see the barest hint of a missed shave on his jaw, and presses the paper into James’ chest with a smile. “Hope there wasn't anything important on that.”

Then he turns and walks right out again.

James stares after him, dumbstruck. He looks down at the page in his hands, taking in the messily-printed phone number — signed _J_ , with a little lopsided smiley face below — and feels his heart skip a beat.

When he flips it over, he finds the first page of the fraternization policy staring back up at him.

+


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took 5 or 6 months, but i'm finally following up with these two !!  
> (i originally only intended to write one more chapter ... but it got long, and i like to tease you guys, so you're getting three instead. oops !!)

+

It takes three days before James finally caves, picks up the phone, and sends a text to the number Jason gave him.

His thumbs feel clumsy on the keyboard of his phone as he types out a message. He stares at the screen for a long moment, then erases it, then types it out again, then erases it again.

James sighs and stares down at the paper sitting on the coffee table in front of him. It’s crumpled and slightly worn — haphazardly folded and stuffed into his jacket pocket as he left the office that evening, then left there for a few days alongside his car keys. He should have thrown it out that night, but for some reason, he didn't.

He just… kept it.

Unfolded it a few times, maybe. Stared at that scribbled-out phone number and allowed himself to dip into a fantasy where the two of them met on Tinder, or Jason’s a couple years older, or where James isn't the goddamn founder of the company Jason’s temping at.

He had no real intention of actually calling that number, though.

Because would be stupid, and desperate, and a bad idea that would complicate his entire work-life balance, and James is better than that.

James is _not_ about to fuck up his life for some bratty, curly-haired kid with a dirty mouth and the sweetest grey eyes he’s ever seen.

Because that would be stupid.

Right?

James wipes a hand down his face and mutters a curse. The lopsided smiley face looks right back up at him.

It’s eleven at night on a Thursday, he tells himself. Jason’s probably out doing something else, or seeing someone else, or getting ready for bed like a normal person. He shouldn’t bother texting right now, because he probably won’t get a reply until tomorrow morning, and the missed communication will be even more awkward for it. He just shouldn’t bother. He should finish his drink, take a shower, put on pyjamas, climb into bed, and forget the stupid note. Paper shred it, maybe. Put it through the wash. Use it as a napkin, for all he cares.

Except for the part where he doesn’t do any of those things, because, God help him, he wants Jason. 

Wants him bad.

_Fuck._

Christ, the noises that kid made, sprawled out on his back, his pale, freckled skin contrasting sharply against dark mahogany. James still can’t get the sound of those little, whimpery gasps out of his head. He swears he’s spent the past seventy-something hours reliving the phantom sensation of Jason’s skinny little legs wrapped around him, blunt fingernails in his shoulders and sharp heels digging into his back.

The cute, haphazard little smiley face is starting to take on a mocking tone.

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, then raises his phone again. Jason’s number is still there, staring invitingly back up at him as the cursor blinks in the blank white message box. He sighs and knocks the rest of his drink back.

It takes him three more long, painstaking minutes to finally hash out a text that he’s satisfied with:

**_Hey, it’s James. You doing anything tonight?_**

Clean and straight to the point, he figures — no games, no pretense, but still loose enough for Jason to turn him down with a quick “Sorry, I’m busy” and leave it at that. James isn’t sure why hitting the ‘send’ button makes his heart rate spike a little.

He sets his phone back down on the coffee table with a little thump and stands up. He’s just about to go refresh his drink and turn on the news when he sees those three little dots pop up out of the corner of his eye. James picks the phone back up so fast it’s embarrassing.

Five seconds later, two new messages pop up in quick succession:

_just watching some dumb movie with my roommate ..._  
_why, do you have a better offer? ;-)_

A winky face? What the fuck is James supposed to do with that?

 _ **Just wondered if you wanted to come over**_ , he replies after a moment. Ambivalent enough, he thinks, but still solidifying the offer.

A beat passes before the next text rolls in.

_id love to :-) whats your address again ??_

Feeling slightly bemused, James types it out and sends it. Jason’s next reply comes less than ten seconds later.

_cool! lemme take a shower, i’ll be there in an hour :-)_

**_See you then_** , James sends back.

_< 3_

James stares down at the screen for a moment longer, then turns it off and rakes a hand through his hair. Jesus, that was faster than he expected. He’s not sure he really thought this through, past sending a quick message to gauge Jason’s interest. He didn’t really think the kid would be that eager to hop in a cab at eleven PM on a Thursday night just for a booty call.

Hoped, maybe. But didn’t expect it. He would have been content with a little bit of casual flirting, or maybe a vague, shapeless fantasy to jerk off to in the shower. James has been single for long enough that he’s adjusted to having a less-than-vibrant sex life — last Sunday night with Jason being the apparent exception, of course.

It was a particularly long day of meetings, that day. Thanks to some fuck-ups with time zones and international clients, James ended up relegating his entire weekend to running pitches, negotiating offers, and generally just tying up loose ends.

Hence why he had felt the need to dress up and go out for a drink on a fucking Sunday night, which was a bizarre idea in and of itself.

Even more bizarre was the fact that an hour and a half later, he left the club with a cute, funny, mop-topped kid on his arm.

Talk about unbelievable luck.

When Jason first approached him at the bar, James’ initial assumption was that he was some very niche kind of hooker. In his defense, the kid was dressed funny — black jeans and a Misfits T-shirt that had clearly seen better days, his hair loose and wild around his face — and also the youngest person in the entire place by a good ten or fifteen years. James hadn’t known what to make of him.

“What are you drinking?” Jason had asked, taking the seat next to him with a warm little grin.

James had shrugged — wary, but not unwelcoming. “Rum and coke.”

“You wanna buy me one?”

James did.

Honestly, he still doesn’t know why he did. Maybe some part of him just liked that the kid had the balls to ask up-front; he’s always had an unfortunate soft spot for brats, and this skinny, mop-topped little thing looking back at him seemed to fit the bill just fine.

And besides, he had the money. He could chalk it up to an act of charity, if he really wanted to. He figured he’d buy the kid a drink, maybe chat a little, then politely turn him down if he started talking about rates for services offered.

Jason hadn’t ended up being a hooker, though. And the little chat turned out to be an hour-long conversation about thrash metal, of all things. The two of them sat at the bar and just kept drinking, kept talking, kept laughing… And when Jason did finally lean in close and offer to suck his dick in the bathroom free-of-charge ( _”I have a thing for older guys with tattoos, don’t fuckin’ judge”_ ), who the hell was James to tell him no?

The bathroom would have been a little on the seedy side, though. James is a thirty-eight year-old bachelor, not a twenty-one year-old begging for a quickie.

He’d ended up taking Jason home with him instead. They’d continued drinking back at his apartment — raiding James’ liquor cabinet for aged whiskey, sipping bourbon, and fancy gin, all of which Jason knocked back like they were shots of Everclear — and at some point along the way, they had lost their clothes.

Funny thing, that.

Many of James’ memories of that night aren't exactly crystal clear, but he does remember the part where he splayed Jason wide on the kitchen table and made a meal of him. He remembers running his hands over the shallow jut of Jason’s ribs, trailing his mouth down his pelvis, and giving him hickeys on the insides of his thighs. He remembers the taste of him, the smell of him, the way his thighs shuddered around James’ head...

Jesus, he’d been charming. Even with James’ cock so far up his ass he couldn’t breathe properly, Jason had still grinned up at him, still kissed him sweet and soft, still moaned _Fuck, James, feels so—_

He hadn’t been ready to let go after the first fuck, either. James barely had time to throw the condom out before Jason was all over him again. They’d moved to the couch, then; just kissing and fondling and playing with the sore spots, taking their time working up to a second round in the bedroom. By the time Jason finally allowed James to call him a cab, it was four in the morning on a Monday.

”Hottest fuck I’ve ever had,” Jason had told him in the office, later that same afternoon.

And James—

Well, James honestly doesn't know if he can argue with that.

+

By the time the intercom alerts him to Jason’s arrival, James’ nervous energy has tangled itself up into a firm ball and lodged itself somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“Hello?”

”Hey, it’s me."

“Come on up. Sixth floor, last one on the right.”

James hopes his voice sounds normal. He hits the button to unlock the front door, and less than five minutes later, there’s a soft rapping at his. Jason’s panting just a little when he opens it, as if he’s been in some kind of a hurry.

“What, did you run here?” James tries for a joke.

Jason rolls his eyes, smiling as he pushes past James and into the apartment. “I wanted to see you,” he says, no pretense about it. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

Belatedly, James closes the door behind him. “Don’t you mean ‘if’?”

Jason’s smile just widens. “Nope.”

He wanders a little further inside, haphazardly kicking off his dirty Vans as he goes. They land on James’ polished hardwood floor with two little thumps. He’s wearing pale, ripped-up skinny jeans and a black Metal Church shirt with the sleeves cut off, smooth skin and bony elbows on display. His curly hair is still slightly damp.

James clears his throat. “You want a drink?”

“Sure, that'd be great.”

It gives James something to do, at least. Get the cups, get the ice, pour a couple fingers of whiskey for each of them.

“Good memories with this table,” Jason remarks, running one hand over the smooth wood as James passes him the glass.

James honestly doesn't have a good reply to that. “Probably the most use it’s seen in the past six months,” he admits, taking a sip.

Jason gives a soft kind of giggle. There’s a slight pause, and James’ hand tightens on his glass.

He’s not good with silences. He can never seem to fill them up the way Lars can. For some reason, that particular brand of charm just doesn't come easily to him; wining and dining is usually safe enough territory, but this is far from that. James can't remember the last time he tried to pull off a booty call. He can't remember the last time he phoned someone up out of the blue to fuck, let alone the last time someone came running.

To his relief, Jason doesn't seem to be overthinking it as much as he is. He just lifts his glass to his lips with that charming little smile that etches smile lines into his cheeks, eyes bright as he knocks it back in three short swallows.

James watches the bob of his adam’s apple, his gaze heavy as Jason licks the whiskey from his lips and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

It shouldn't be charming, but it is. 

“You didn't invite me over just for drinks, did you?” Jason says, setting the empty glass aside and taking a tiny step towards him.

No preamble, then. Straight to the point.

James raises his own drink to his lips and takes another purposely slow sip. “No, I didn't.”

He makes Jason come to him, this time. He waits until Jason cocks his head and takes another step forward, slowly bringing his hand up to take the glass from James' hand. He sets it softly down on the table beside his own.

“I don't really do this kind of thing very often,” James says slowly. He hates how it comes out sounding like a disclaimer, as if he’s some middle-aged idiot navigating the unfamiliar waters of a sexuality crisis.

Jason just grins. “I know for a fact that you know what you're doing,” he laughs, shifting even closer. “And you’re the one who called me, remember? So just relax. Let me give you what you want.”

He’s so close James can feel the warmth of his skin, tantalizingly close. He smells like soap. A soft, gentle touch to his elbow is all the encouragement James needs to finally close the gap between them.

He pulls Jason tight to his chest as their lips meet; hesitantly, at first, then with growing desire, all thoughts about work leaving his mind as his hands find their way to Jason’s waist. It’s already so much different, doing this sober.

“I’m yours,” Jason mumbles against his lips, his fingers blindly curling themselves into the pockets of James’ jeans. “Whatever you want, I want it, too.”

James pulls back just enough to breathe. Jason’s gaze is dark and unflinching, the flinty grey of his irises eclipsed by his dilated pupils.

“Shirt off,” James says softly, testing it out.

Jason’s lips tilt up into a smile. Wordlessly, he obeys. He shifts back just enough that he can tug it up and over his head, then tosses it carelessly to the floor.

On another day, maybe James would make him pick it back up and fold it nicely. As it is, he lets it slide.

And fuck, the kid is skinny — almost disconcertingly so. Even in his early 20s, his limbs still have that some of that awkward, gangly scrawniness leftover from a late growth spurt and a few missed meals. A strange, protective part of James feels the urge to cook him a fucking casserole just to make sure he has enough to eat.

“What’s that look for?” Jason laughs, lazily trailing two fingers up James’ stomach.

James pulls him in for another kiss. “Just— You. Fuck, you get me hard.”

It feels natural to loosely push one hand into the back of Jason’s hair and tighten his grip, just barely, relishing the way Jason’s lips immediately slacken and part on a soft gasp, head tilting backwards. It feels even more natural to drop his mouth to the pale skin of Jason’s throat. He feels blunt fingernails scrabbling faintly at his back, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt, and decides food can wait until after.

“You wanna— bed?” he murmurs somewhere in the vicinity of Jason’s ear.

Jason nods, his chin bumping against James’ shoulder. “Whatever you want.”

Christ, this kid’s gonna be the death of him.

His eyes are bright as James begins steering them in the direction of the bedroom, careful to avoid tripping Jason on the carpet as they pause every four feet to make out like horny teenagers. Jason’s just too pretty for James to keep his hands off of, honestly. And the breathy, gaspy noises he makes when James backs him up against the bedroom door, sharp shoulder blades knocking against the wood…

“After you,” James says, reaching for the door handle next to Jason’s hip and pushing it open.

+

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr! @[shotgunmessiahs](http://shotgunmessiahs.tumblr.com) 💕


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